Without a Gun
by Calico West
Summary: After an accident, Jess takes off his gun - forever?
1. Chapter 1

Without a Gun

Chapter One

The dinner bell rang loud and clear, reaching across Sherman land where it reached three sets of receptive ears, all in different locations. The distinctive noise and for what it meant, that it wasn't only the noon hour but that there would be a table full of food to devour, brought a smile to each face as they set aside the work that had kept them occupied since the breakfast dishes had been put away. The youngest of the family was only at the barn, but the two men that ran the ranch and relay station were far enough away that a couple of horses would do the carrying to the dinner table.

Daisy stilled the triangle's clanging when the first footsteps came running in the direction of the house. With a point to the water pump as a reminder to wash his hands first, Daisy waited until she saw Mike actually pick up the bar of soap before returning to the kitchen to finish slicing the fresh loaf of bread that had finished baking the hour before. She had no sooner than put the plate of bread on the table when the front door burst open and the young boy came bounding in with somewhat clean hands while two horses came to a halt outside of the house carrying even dirtier workers, who regularly never stopped at the wash basin before Daisy Cooper moved in.

Sitting down at the table, Jess stuffed a napkin into his shirt, although it had been known to happen plenty of times that even with a napkin, neatly or haphazardly placed there, didn't always catch the crumbs or drips from landing somewhere on his front. Mike was already seated, and Slim stood near Daisy by the kitchen stove, offering a hand to put the remainder of the meal onto the table. Once everything was in place, Jess was ready to pounce on the serving dish nearest his hand, but when a boot kicked his chair, he looked up with a frown to Slim's tall frame.

"Hey," Jess teasingly snapped the word, "what was that for?"

"Just keeping it, fair, Pard," Slim said as his backend found the chair at the head of the table. "If you get a head start on the food, there won't be a thing left for the rest of us."

"Can't I have some milk, Aunt Daisy?" Mike asked, seeing that not only was his glass empty, but the pitcher that should have been full of the frothy, white liquid was bare as well. He had already filled his plate, doing so out of experience of watching Slim and Jess attack the full table, but he could never start without first downing a gulp of milk.

"You certainly may," Daisy nodded with a smile, "but it seems that I recall hearing Slim ask you to put the extra milk down in the well to keep cool. Did you?"

"Yes," Mike replied, remembering how he had taken the milk that Slim poured into a jug after milking the cow that morning and sent it down the side of the well on a small piece of rope where it'd stay cool until the noon meal.

"Then you run along now and go get it," Daisy patted Mike on the shoulder, getting him to rise from his chair and head for the door.

"While you're out there, Tiger," Slim waited until Mike stopped with his hand on the kitchen door before he stepped out, "I noticed that Buttons had an empty dinner dish. Give the dog its share of noontime chow before you come back unless you want the dog to beat down the door here and start into our plates."

"All right, Slim," Mike said, closing the door behind him as he left so he wouldn't hear a shout out behind him from Aunt Daisy to not let the flies in.

"Can't I start now?" Jess asked, sounding with similarity like Mike's previous plea.

"Of course," Daisy laughed as she filled the coffee cups, "you boys dig in, Mike will be right back."

"Smells almost too good to eat, Daisy," Jess smiled, using every inch of space on his plate with heaping helpings of everything.

"Did you get the cross fencing done on the north section?" Slim asked as he also filled his plate, although not to the near overflowing that Jess had done.

"Not quite," Jess talked between bites, "what about you?"

"I hammered the last nail in just as the dinner bell rang," Slim grinned when Jess attempted to groan through his full mouth since he hadn't finished his end of the fence line.

"I'll get back at it this afternoon," Jess said after swallowing and then he quickly reached for the last slice of bread on the plate, which he wouldn't have taken if Mike hadn't already placed the crusty outer slice on his own dish before he went outside.

"Goodness, Jess," Daisy said with a beaming smile, returning the coffee pot to the stove to keep warm, "you don't have any room on your plate, yet you can't stop reaching for more."

"Can't let my left hand sit still doing nothing while this one here," he motioned with his right as he stabbed a chunk of potato dripping with butter with his fork, "does all the work. Pass the jelly, Slim, my bread needs something extra."

"Here you go," Slim handed Jess the bowl of red jelly, "save a dollop for me when I get to my bread."

"I could get more if you need it, boys," Daisy said, wiping her hands on a towel, ready to get the jar of jelly out of the cupboard if necessary.

"There'll be plenty, thanks," Slim said as he retrieved the jelly bowl from Jess' hands.

Daisy craned her head toward the kitchen window, wanting to see Mike at his return before she joined the two men at the table. It shouldn't have taken more than two minutes to fetch the milk and feed the dog, but then again, she knew that boys, especially Mike, liked to dawdle. Yet, not so much at dinnertime. She took a step toward the door to pull back the kitchen curtain when Slim asked for an extra napkin, as his was now wiping up a spot of jelly that had drizzled off of his bread onto the table and without taking a look outdoors, she turned to the stash of red and white checkered cloths and handed one to Slim.

"Thanks, Daisy," Slim said, barely dropping the napkin in his lap before quickly reaching for the last scoop of potatoes. "No frowning, Pard, you know very well that you swiped the last slice of bacon at breakfast this morning."

"You two should know by now that there's never a shortage of food around here," Daisy laughed, never tiring of the pleasure she felt over feeding her two adult children, "so there's no need to squabble like little boys over who gets what first and last."

"That might be true, Daisy," Jess said around bites, "but one can never be too certain."

"Mmm-hmm," Slim seconded the previous statement, but did so without opening his mouth, as his teeth were too busy chewing through a perfectly cooked pork chop.

Jess stopped eating long enough to down a decent swallow of coffee before putting his fork back in motion and then as his mouth savored another tender chunk of potato, he suddenly paused mid-bite and turned his head slightly toward the door. He'd heard something, but it wasn't a familiar sound he could immediately identify. He glanced at Slim, holding his own cup to his lips and then toward Daisy, taking the soiled napkin to the laundry pile, but neither of them seemed to have paid attention to the noise outdoors, whatever it was. Ten seconds passed without another and with a shrug, Jess picked his fork up once more, but it would soon be dropped back to his plate with a clank.

"Slim! Jess!" Mike's shouts were in staccato form, one right after the other. "Help!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When a situation called for swift action, without unsteady movements or panic, Slim and Jess could have been classified as experts. In a near unison display, they were both through the kitchen door with guns securely in hand, their stances instantly readied at seeing what had caused Mike to scream. There were three men crouched in various positions around the corral, all of them armed and just as prepared to use their weapons as the ranch partners, but the fourth, the one that held the greatest threat, had Mike pinned to his chest.

"Don't make a move," the man holding Mike snapped his words as if a whip had hit the ground, "or else the boy gets it."

"Who are you and what do you want?" Slim eased his gun hand only slightly, but wouldn't fully drop the iron out of his grasp. With a slight glance at Jess, he noted that his partner was doing the same.

"Our names don't matter, but we need some horses," the man grinned, showing that he was missing two teeth up front, making his words sound somewhat distorted, but even without the broken dialect, his meaning wasn't difficult to understand. "The kid here's going to ensure that we get them."

"I ain't gonna do nothing for you," Mike said with a squirm and as a hand came up to cover his mouth, Mike sunk his teeth into the top finger, creating a string of profane words that made even the man's comrade's ears turn red.

"Mike, don't!" Jess hollered, fearing what the retaliation of the man that was holding him would be, but the warning was too late. A knife flashed in the sunlight and as Jess knew what its sole purpose would be, he trained his eye on the hand that clutched it and in a lightning flash reaction, Jess fired his gun, the bullet going exactly where he'd intended as it raced across a set of knuckles, drawing blood and dropping the knife in the same instant.

Mike sprang free the moment there was a recoiling of pain in the body behind him. He was too far from Slim or Jess to reach their safety, so in a moment of confusion, he stood in the middle of the yard, just beyond the reach of his enemy, looking in every direction. Seeing Daisy's horrified face in the window, Mike started to run for the house, but knowing that he'd never make it before an arm snatched him once more, he darted in a full circle, his aim now anything that would hide him. With a few carefully placed bullets from Jess' gun to keep the outlaw's feet stationary, Mike stole a glance behind him at his guardians, the desperate look in his eyes wasn't missed by either man as he sought their direction.

"Get in the barn, Mike!" Slim shouted, dropping his body down behind the water pump at the corner of the house as a bullet whizzed past his head. He returned fire, only feeling the breath in his lungs return to a somewhat normal pattern when Mike entered safely through the barn door and abruptly closed it behind him.

The battle of guns had begun and from the outlaw gang's point of view, if they wanted to get out, they would have to take down every gun that was aimed at them, but they soon found out they weren't up against any set of amateurs. Slim kept the bullets flying at almost the same rhythm that poured from Jess' gun and it took one from each of their weapons to take down the leader before their attention was diverted to the remainder of the partially hidden bunch scattered around the corral. The noise of constant gunfire was deafening, interrupted by glass shattering and numerous ricochets off boards and dirt, but not a shout of pain was emitted through Slim or Jess' mouths, but that couldn't be said of their opponents.

Jess flattened his body to the ground to avoid getting hit and with a steady aim he dropped a man that had been perched near the water trough. By the way the man rolled to a still form after hitting dirt told the ranch partners that he wouldn't be challenging them any further. Slim zeroed in on a man that was doing his best to give a direct aim to Jess' now fully exposed head and just before the opposite trigger was pulled, Slim put the final slug in his gun into the man's gun arm, making it totally useless in a gunfight. With only one man remaining, his choice was to surrender, die, or run, and the first two options were never even considered.

"There goes one, Jess," Slim motioned with his head as he quickly refilled his gun as the man broke into a run.

"I see him," Jess said as he came to a stand, his gun unwavering as he perfected his aim and pulled the trigger.

And then everything slowed to a near standstill, the event playing out so slowly through Jess and Slim's vision, that they could have narrated it aloud as it happened, but no one would have wanted to speak it, hear it, or even see it. The bullet tore through the air, but the mere moment before it should have struck an outlaw down, the man that was running stumbled, his ankle twisting underneath him, making this exit or any further attempt impossible. His face hit the dirt without the added agony of lead entering his flesh and as he knew he couldn't pick himself up, he stayed where he had fallen. The body that was now on the ground, when standing, had been in a direct line hiding a vital image behind him. But now what had been hidden was fully in focus. The barn door was open a crack from where a frightened, yet curious boy had dared to peek, but as he'd poked his head through, something hard hit his chest.

He didn't stagger as he walked through the barn door as there wasn't much pain, but it was the hot liquid running down his front that made him stop still. Mike looked up to see Slim running toward him and then darted a glance at Jess who looked so stricken, literally frozen in place as his gun hadn't even been dropped back in its holster that he was afraid that Jess was the one that really was wounded. Mike took a step, this one beginning to feel shaky and as Daisy's scream filled his ears, he fell to the dirt, unmoving as soon as he'd landed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mike's name must have been spoken fifty times in the next few moments. Daisy's was a steady stream of fearful, yet comforting murmurs, while Slim called out in a reassuring tone, promising an unconscious boy that he was going to be all right as he carried the limp form into the house, but from Jess, still standing in the same position from where he'd fired the fateful bullet, was an emotionally raw repeated trio, "I shot Mike. I shot Mike. I shot Mike!"

"Jess!"

The shout was from Slim, and somehow his voice was coming from the house. Jess turned his body, only then returning the gun to its holster, but the palm of his hand all the way to the trigger finger felt like he'd been holding fire. Slim stood at the doorway, his shirt splattered with the blood of a much younger body as he repeated Jess' name to fully get his partner's attention. Jess' feet felt heavier than a pair of bricks as he walked to the front door and as he reached Slim's position, Jess kept his gaze locked on those brick like pair of boots, unable to come anywhere close from meeting blue to blue.

"I'm going for the doctor," Slim said, not with an angry or accusatory tone, but there was a definite fearfulness lacing his words that couldn't be missed. "See what you can do inside."

"I… I can't." The desperation made the blue eyes rise, but not all the way up.

"You have to," Slim said with slight firmness, needing to penetrate an agonized skull. When he received a barely noticeable nod, Slim tied the two surviving outlaws to neighboring corral posts and then walked into the barn to ready his horse for a careful, yet necessary speed to ride into town.

Jess watched the horse take Slim westward and then forced his steps into the house, the tension that permeated from every wall sounded like the echo of a gunshot to his ears. Jess paused not far from the front door, his hands rising to his face, one covering his mouth while the other traced the sweat drops away from his brow. Mike's bedroom door was open, and for a moment, he wished it had been shut tight, for if it had been solidly blocking his path, he would have understood its unwelcoming gesture. Yet it was wide open, not needing an invitation or a knock to step through, but Jess couldn't move in its direction.

"Dad-gum, Slim," Jess whispered, dropping both hands back to his sides, but they were balled into fists, and even if there was something to punch with them, it wouldn't have relieved the tight pressure in his palms. "Why didn't you let me go instead?"

Jess already knew the answer in the same way that Slim had known. A level head needed to take that ride. Jess would have never made it to Laramie in his state. He could hardly walk, so how could he ride? Could he even see straight? Every blink of his eyes he saw the bullet suspended in the air right before it hit Mike. Slim had done the right thing in taking control, otherwise, the Laramie doctor might never be able to come to their aid.

Jess stepped through Mike's bedroom door, the fear crawling up his backbone as if a menacing insect were scratching its way up to his neck, but unlike a pesky intruder, this was nothing that he could shake off. He paused just inside of the door, unable to go any further, for the shock of what lay before him hit Jess just as hard as the shock that had happened outside. Daisy looked up to his pained expression as soon as she sensed his presence, but quickly returned her eyes back to the still frame beside her. Jess hadn't wanted to even look at what Daisy's eyes needed to take in, but it was impossible to avert his gaze anywhere else. Jess tried to swallow, tried to close his eyes, tried to take a deep breath, but he could do nothing, nothing but stare at Mike.

His face was the palest of white, but the color of his skin started to change the farther down it went, into a pulsating, ominous red. The spotted shirt was gone, perhaps the pants too, but the bedding came up to his waistline to make that extra detail unknown. Daisy's hands carefully pressed a cloth to Mike's chest, hiding the gaping hole that was underneath it, but the red that oozed onto the clean material more than declared the hideous mark that came from his own hand.

"Daisy?" How he had formed her name aloud, Jess didn't know, it had just come forth like a necessary breath through his lips.

"I don't know, Jess," Daisy whispered her answer as a tear escaped through her lowered lashes. She too, held no condemning tone in her voice in Jess' direction, only fear, a great, dreaded fear. "It's a dangerous wound, I know that much, and even with my training, I can't take it out. Look at my hands."

She raised them slightly and Jess did as instructed, seeing the trembling of a pair of hands that he'd always seen steadied even in the most difficult of situations. She had skillfully dug a bullet out of Slim's shoulder the past winter, brought babies into the world, tended to the sick and injured not only in their small family but to friends, neighbors and even a few foes whenever a doctor wasn't available, but this was different. This wasn't a bullet lodged in just any flesh. This was Mike. But it also wasn't just any bullet, but one that had once been in Jess' belt, loaded into his gun with his fingers, and then with a singular finger that had touched the trigger, put that same bullet inside of a boy's chest.

This should have never happened, would have never happened if he hadn't fired the gun. None of them should be in the positions that they were in right now, but he had been too quick to pull the trigger. Everything should have been going forward in their normal daily routine, not suddenly upended with a tragedy. But they were all there, Mike was dying, Daisy was trembling, Slim was hurrying, and Jess was watching. All because of a single moment in time, nothing would ever be the same again amongst them.

"Because of me," it was spoken in a near silent whisper.

Jess felt the pressure of guilt squeeze his chest, but it was doing more than only constricting his heart, but gripped his entire body from his head all the way down to this feet, but it was where the pulse was formed where it clenched the hardest. It hurt so badly that it felt like he had been the one that was shot. With everything that throbbed with life inside of him, Jess wished that he had been the one that had taken the bullet instead of Mike. Jess turned his head slightly toward the window when the sound of the doctor's carriage turned into a real image just outside of the door.

As soon as Doctor Sweeney stepped into the bedroom, Daisy quickly gave her position next to Mike to the physician, but could only go as far as the foot of the boy's bed, her hands, pressed tightly together in prayer and worry, were clutched to her chest. Jess could only watch for a few minutes more, and as soon as the compress was removed, Jess became removed. He took swift strides until he met the outdoors, his lungs automatically gulping the open air as he'd been nearly holding his every breath while being inside. Jess stopped when his foot hit the dirt, for the scenery before him wasn't only a stark reminder of what had happened, but Slim stood next to one of the dead men in the corral, with Sheriff Mort Cory beside him.

They turned to look at him, as Jess continued to observe them both, his vision focusing more sharply on the gun that was held in the sheriff's hand. It was pointed at no one, only out of its holster, clearly showing Mort's profession if the star on his vest wasn't evidence enough to the outlaws that remained alive nearby. Jess turned his head away, not wanting to see the man that should have been the one that had felt the impact of his bullet, not a boy that was likely being operated on at that very moment.

With Jess' chin nearly touching his right shoulder, his eyelashes down, but not completely closed, the butt of his own gun sticking out of his holster became centered before his eyes. Like Mort's, that gun, or one similar, as long as it was attached to Jess Harper's hip, declared a type of profession, although far less revered than a lawman's. Gunfighter. The gun was supposed to have been his second nature, but whatever his reputation had been built on was obviously gone. Jess was skilled, considered one of the best, but someone in the top tier of gun fighting wouldn't shoot down a kid. Everyone might make mistakes, but not at the cost of a child's life. Suddenly the gun belt, lined with ammunition and its weapon filled holster, felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

"This is the South Saunders gang," Mort said as both he and Slim walked in Jess' direction, "or what's left of them. They're new to these parts, but definitely not new to outlawing. Posters just started to circulate in the area about them a few days ago. They've been tromping through the desert country to the south and down toward Mexico for several months. Heat must've finally got to them and they headed up here."

"How's Mike holding up?" Slim asked when they came to a stop beside Jess just off of the porch.

"He's been shot," Jess said with a dangerous cool tone in his voice, "how do you expect him to be holding up?"

"Take it easy, Jess," Slim said, eyeing his partner carefully, not liking what he saw in the shadows around his face.

"That ain't possible," Jess barked in Slim's direction and then turned to Mort. "You remember how I felt when Mike was shot last year by that Mitch fellow from Chloride. It tore me up, gnawing at my insides until I was near consumed by what that sidewinder had done. I wanted to fight him, break him, yeah, even kill him for shooting Mike and if I woulda got my hands on him sooner, maybe I woulda done just that. So how do you think I feel now, when this time, it was my gun that did the shooting?"

Mort looked at Slim and gave a slight nod. He had witnessed Jess' unleashed wrath firsthand as they had trailed the bank robbers that had shot up the town and wounded Mike. Every part of Jess' body had wanted to release his fury with retaliation, getting his hands on the guilty man, and now, to him, Jess was the guilty man. What Jess now felt inside couldn't even begin to compare with the need for revenge when it had been Mitch that had pulled the trigger, because there was no one but him at fault. He couldn't gun down his own self, couldn't slam his body into a wall and throw a stout punch into his jaw and he couldn't chase the responsibility of firing his weapon to the ends of the earth.

But he had to do something. If he could, he would cut off the hand that had done the deed, but even in his desperate state, Jess knew that going to an extreme level such as this would change nothing. The gun on his hip started to not only feel its heavy burden, but began to burn into his leg until he felt as if he couldn't stand its touch any further. Jess put his hand on the handle of his gun, gripped it tightly and then released it. This could go, should go and would go. Jess began to unbuckle the belt, drawing not only two sets of eyes to sharply turn to fully view his actions, but brought a quick intake of air through Slim's lips.

"I ain't fit to where this thing," Jess held the gun belt up in his hand like it was something vile, almost as if he were holding a dead rattlesnake out away from his body. He tossed it into the dirt, kicking an extra dose of the powdery ground onto the handle of the gun like he would rather have it buried than being still in his sight. "Maybe I never was."

"You don't really mean that, do you Jess?" Mort asked, receiving a sharp glare for the first part of his answer.

"I sure as blazes do," Jess snapped, "if I can point a gun and shoot it at a boy, I reckon I can point it at just about anything and do the same. Maybe next time it'll be you, Daisy or Slim. I ain't wearing it again."

"Things will look better in a day or two," Mort tried to reassure, but Jess waved a hand in the sheriff's direction to silence him from going further.

"Not from my point of view," Jess shook his head slowly back and forth, "not after what I've done."

"No one's blaming you, Jess," Slim said, wanting to reach out and put a hand on his partner's shoulder, but afraid that Jess would recoil from the touch, he kept his arm to his side.

"You're only saying that 'cause Mike's still breathing," Jess answered with a quiet, yet broken glass like sharpness. "If he wasn't, you'd be saying something a whole lot different."

There was no reply, mostly because neither man could form a proper response that could offer any form of reassurance or comfort to Jess. Until they knew if Mike was going to survive, the truth that backed their non-blaming attitude had wobbly legs to stand on. Emotions would take an entire different path if grief from a sudden loss were to occur, and if what they were viewing from Jess was an example, a grievous response could say or do anything.

"Your silence tells me I'm right," Jess bit his bottom lip hard enough to feel a stab of pain. "Then I reckon that's what I'll get, and worse, if Mike doesn't pull through."

Jess started for the barn, but the sound of lighter footsteps at the door halted him. He couldn't turn to look, not wanting to see the expression on Daisy's face and even with his back to her, Jess squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing could shut out sound and there was no mistaking the sound of a crying woman behind him, but if the tears being shed were from grief or relief, Jess couldn't tell. There was nothing in front of him to cling to, only air that felt as thin as if he were on the highest mountain peak, so Jess slid his hands up the front of his shirt until he reached his chest and filling his hands with the fabric, his clutch being so tight he nearly ripped the shirt from his back.

"He made it through surgery," Daisy's voice held the same tears that were coursing down her cheeks. "The bullet came close to his heart, but thank God it missed, otherwise, well, I cannot say otherwise. He's weak, but I know my little boy, he'll be all right."

"But will I?" Jess said it aloud, but he was the only one to hear it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

For the few agonizing moments as Daisy relayed the news about Mike's condition, everyone remained still. Once a sigh of relief escaped Slim's mouth, it was as if their entire surroundings suddenly became in motion. Slim wrapped his arms around Daisy, who melted into his embrace with as many sobs as if the report had been grim, while Mort offered the weeping woman a clean handkerchief, only to wipe the corner of his own eye when she was finished with it. The three stood together on the porch, ready to go inside, but there was another walking away.

"Jess?" Slim's call did not bring a stop to a steady stride.

Jess pushed the barn door open with force, not missing the dark stain of blood in the dirt as he stepped through. He grabbed his gear, saddling the animal that had belonged to him for several years that had seen so many discouraging times that the horse was all too familiar with the sudden dark mood of his owner, not flinching at the gruff demeanor that permeated the air. Jess hopped into the saddle and took up the reins, aiming for somewhere, but in truth, it was really nowhere. There wasn't a single place on earth that could aid his aching heart, except for in a bedroom where an unconscious boy rested, but Jess could only aim for a place much further away. He was ready to run free as soon as the barn was behind him, but when Jess and his horse emerged, Slim was right there in front of him.

"Jess," Slim looked up to the man on top of the horse, knowing that he couldn't stand in his way, yet desperately wanting to do so. "You can't leave."

Silence. Cold and painful silence. If Slim's eyes had been closed, he might have thought he was standing in a foot of snow. There was something between them that wasn't just airy space, but an invisible, solid shield. Slim felt it, Jess felt it, perhaps even the horse that he was on felt it too, and there wasn't anything he could do to remove it.

"Are you coming back?" Slim swallowed, the concern lodging in place in his throat even after he attempted to down it.

The silence wasn't ended, but with a dip of a black hat, the acknowledgement was there. Jess would come back but Slim just didn't know when. With a coarse sound in his throat, Jess nudged his horse into a swift motion, gaining even more speed the farther from the house that he went. Slim had seen the image before of Jess riding away, but this time, unlike the others, there was a pronounced difference. There wasn't a gun on his hip. The belt that went with the firearm lay discarded in the dust. Slim waited until his partner was no longer in sight before he walked to the always worn gun belt, picked it up and then walked into the house. Slim buckled the belt together and then draped it over the pillow on Jess' bunk. He'd come back, but if he would put the gun back on when he did, for now, would go unknown.

An hour can be a dreadfully long time, but when ten equally slow ones followed, the remainder of the day that turned into night was an extension of forever. Slim sat in front of the fireplace, where he'd watched every hour come and go since darkness had fallen, for there were no more chores that could occupy his hands to keep him busied then. It was now after midnight, the stillness of the night matched the outdoor blackness perfectly and if Slim had taken himself outdoors, he would have heard the thunder rolling, even if there wasn't a storm cloud in the sky.

The thunder boomed through Jess' body, expelling in a rush of angry outbursts through his mouth but gave a similar jolt from his hands and feet. Jess had long since dismounted, leaving his horse loosely tied to a fencepost on the easternmost corner of Sherman property. He walked, better described as stomped for what the sound under his boots made, kicking everything in his path out of his way. When Jess came to something that a kick couldn't displace, he shoved with his hands, bending branches, rolling stones or hoisting rotten stumps as far as they could be flung. Every expression from his body was a direct aim at the tumult inside of him, as there was nothing that could conquer the storm.

Crossing a creek that soaked his pants up to his knees, he stopped on the other side, heaving the air in his lungs in and out until the breaths came in less tortured gasps. Jess unbuttoned his shirt to the waistline for the rapidity of his heartbeat created such a heat to his core he couldn't stand another minute without his skin being exposed to the night air. Even that, however, could only touch the surface. There was a fire from a lightning strike right in his heart that felt like it would never be tamed.

Jess lifted a sweat dripping face to the sky and stared into the darkness like he was looking into his soul and he emitted a mournful noise that was only the beginning of a rush of exclamations. What came from his mouth were so strongly barked that they were barely audible words, with the most easily discerning a desperate cry to God and a bitter assault of rage that he heaped upon his own head. When his throat felt like it had the onset of laryngitis he drew silent, exchanging the vocal fury back to the swift stomp as he pushed across the territory.

The amount of time and distance that passed under Jess' feet went unknown, but even if a clock somehow still moved forward, Jess was about to come to a stop. He was at a fence line, at least, a partially made border, for a pile of wooden posts lay ready to be set into the ground to complete a boundary line, but there was a large tree standing in its path. Jess knew he was no longer on Sherman land, and whose property the fence was marking, Jess could only make a guess, but the line meant that he would go no further, but his body hadn't even begun to release its strangling tension.

With the full moon as his guiding light, Jess looked all around him and finding a stash of tools amongst the stack of fence posts, he hoisted up an ax. With his eye marking the spot on the tree trunk, he hurtled the blade into the bark of the tree, the wood chips flying into the air around him on impact. The motion was repeated, again and again and again. With every upward motion as he prepared to swing there was a pause, making his shoulders bulge beneath his shirt and then as the ax swung downward to cause another chink to be removed from the tree, the muscles rippled mightily through Jess' arms and back. If there was nothing but a job to do, his strength for endurance would have reached its limit, but the power that coursed through him was being fed by an emotion that went to the depths of his soul, where strength couldn't be contained.

Jess continued the assault on what was before him until it couldn't take another blow. The tree crackled and swayed and with a thunderous boom, it fell, the ground shaking underneath where it landed, but it wasn't this that made Jess tremble. He was spent. His muscles, although rock firm, twitched from abuse and Jess stood still, head bowed low as he waited for the internal stamina to reach his outer core. His body didn't take long to regain its natural rhythm, but even when it did so, there wasn't any way that Jess could say that he felt better. Although forcefully trying, not even pushing himself that far could aid his bleeding heart.

With a step backward, Jess began to retrace his steps that had brought him there. His waiting horse was encouraged by his presence, for if the thought could have entered the animal's mind, there would have been more than a moment spent wondering if Jess would return. Back in the saddle, Jess gave his horse a direct lead, knowing the familiar road that his mount would aim for. At least for now, he would go home. Back to the place where a gun was fired and left. Back to the place where an injured boy slept. Back to the place where Slim was still sitting in front of the fireplace, waiting for his partner's return.

Slim continued his straight forward gaze, not really focusing on what was in front of him, but knowing every detail that was there anyway. Daisy, although encouraged by pinker cheeks and a less rapid heartbeat, refused to be apart from Mike during the ongoing night, so she had moved the rocking chair to be beside his bed until morning. Slim hoped that she would sleep, for even with her motherly strength that had carried her through the most difficult part of the afternoon, she needed the rest. He couldn't, at least not now. There would be no sleep in store for Slim this night, not when he was constantly listening for the sound of hoof beats that would come walking to the door. By the time the clock was on an upward tick to three, it came.

Slim rose from the chair, looking through the window first with a hand near his gun, just in case it wasn't the one he was expecting, although instinctively, Slim knew that it was. When he saw the outline of Jess' body against the dimly lit starry sky, Slim breathed a sigh of relief and then with a quiet opening and closing of the front door to not disturb Daisy in the room behind him, he walked to the barn to meet his troubled friend.

"That's a bad habit to have, Slim," Jess said from the rear of the stall that belonged to his mount.

"What is?" Slim asked, keeping his stance in the doorway where it was dark. There was a lantern lit, but it wasn't giving off much light, making the majority of the barn stuck in a similar blackness that dared match the mood that permeated from the man in its center.

"I shoulda said a couple bad habits," Jess explained as he worked to unsaddle his horse. "One, it ain't a good idea to wait up this late and two, you should never sneak up on a man with unsteady nerves. I reckon you can count yourself lucky that I ain't wearing an iron no more."

"I'll try to remember that," Slim answered quietly with a smile, even though he knew Jess couldn't see it. "But about the staying up part, I don't mind the late hour. I'm just glad you came back at all."

"The only reason I did," Jess said with gruffness that didn't come from his normal temperament, "was 'cause Mike's still alive. If he woulda died, well…" he let his voice trail off, but even without the further explanation, both men knew what would have happened if Mike had died.

"I know how you feel, Jess," Slim stepped out of the shadows and into the lantern light.

"Really?" Jess' voice hammered each word with exaggerated force. "How many boys have you shot?"

"All right," Slim gave a slight nod, "so maybe that hasn't happened to me. But I know guilt. Pain. Suffering. All of the dark emotions, I know them. And something else I do know, it's not your fault."

Jess whipped his body around as fast as his gun would have been drawn, staring at Slim in the dim light that somehow still reflected the intense sparks in his eyes. Jess opened his right hand that had seemingly been stuck in a balled fist except when it was in necessary use and tapped his left finger hard enough into the palm that it sounded like a slap. "I held the gun. I pulled the trigger. I shot Mike! How can you say it's not my fault?"

"It was an accident, Jess," Slim said slowly, "an accident."

"No," Jess shook his head hard back and forth as he spoke. "An accident is falling off a ladder, hitting a thumb with a hammer, dumping coffee down your front or taking a stumble with your horse. It ain't a boy getting shot and it ain't Mike getting shot by my hand!"

"Jess," Slim tried reaching a hand out to touch Jess' arm but it was flexed roughly out of his reach. "Don't heap blame on yourself."

"If not me, then who?" Jess dropped his head so that the only part of his face that Slim could see was his chin, and the taller man couldn't be certain or not, but he thought he saw it quiver. "There ain't no one to blame but me."

"What about the South Saunders gang?"

"Sure," Jess shifted his weight from foot to foot, "they started it. But they didn't put a bullet in Mike. I did."

"Jess…"

"I'm done arguing, Slim," Jess strode past Slim and headed for the house. "I'm just done, so let me be, all right?"

Slim didn't answer, not knowing what else to say. He knew time would heal Mike's wound, as Doctor Sweeney had been adamant to say that once the initial first few days of bed rest were over, he'd likely be back to a bundle of energy soon after, but Slim didn't know how the same amount of time would affect Jess. By the looks of him, one would say forever wouldn't be long enough.

Slim followed after Jess, although his pace being much slower than what stomped before him, he was close enough to see Jess' body stride through the front door and then a moment later, appear once more. Through the open door an object was hurled into the air where it landed in a heap at Slim's toes. He stopped, waiting until he heard the inner door of their shared bedroom become closed before Slim bent at the waist and picked up Jess' gun belt out of the dust once more. He tucked it under his arm and went into the barn, leaving the unwanted weapon on a peg against the back wall, where it would either permanently stay to gather dust, or one day be put back on.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It was difficult, staying in the house or outside of it, with both Daisy and Slim taking turns back and forth checking on Mike. He'd regained consciousness twice, which made Daisy nearly leap for joy with excitement as she bustled in the kitchen to prepare the boy some chicken broth. Only a few sips from a spoon would pass through his lips, for with a wan smile, Mike would flutter his eyes and be back asleep again. The entire day went by at a crawl as Jess couldn't find enough work to keep his hands busy, struggling with his emotions as he entered and exited the house, unable to stay in either place for long as the previous day's memories and the current one's realities were far too vivid.

By the time Jess had switched the team of horses on the last stage rolling through for the afternoon, he was ready to roll himself. With a brief explanation to Slim that he was heading to Laramie, Jess saddled up, riding swiftly away from the ranch house just as Daisy stepped through the front door. She bore a brighter expression, telling Slim, who was leaning against the front porch railing watching Jess ride away, that Mike was awake once more. And there was nothing they could do, when a few minutes later, the quiet voiced boy lying in bed asked to see Jess, and then sometime later, the ask turned into a beg. With a quivered plea at the ranch that couldn't reach the span of twelve miles, Jess tied the reins of his horse in front of the busiest establishment in Laramie, the Stockmen's saloon.

Jess leaned against the bar, his left arm resting along the surface of its top while his right hand turned a barely sipped from glass of whiskey in short circles in front of him. He'd ordered only one, for there was no point filling up with the amber liquid, as it would only further impair his already troubled thoughts. The one, however, wasn't doing him much good either. Jess brought it to his lips, not really putting enough into his mouth to produce a swallow, but he did so anyway, wincing as the little trickle went down the back of his throat.

The saloon was packed, as it regularly tended to be on a Friday evening, with a myriad of occupants enjoying different bouts of entertainment. Two groups of poker players filled the tables in opposite corners, the sounds of their chips clanking together with each bet brought routinely uttered groans or bouts of laughter as each round was complete. A couple of eighteen-year-olds occupied the stairwell as they ogled the frilly skirted saloon girls that waltzed by, tittering to each other as to who they thought was the prettiest and hoping at the same time that the girls would notice them. A handful of drovers were spending their hard earned wages on as many mugs of beer that they could down at the far end of the bar, and nearly every other inch of space was taken by men that were either passed out from too much whiskey or those that were getting close to getting to that point themselves.

Jess, however, didn't take notice of these things, even though the barroom's mirror was right in front of him and all that he had to do was gaze at its reflection to see what the room was boasting. To him, Jess was the saloon's only customer, touching a single glass of whiskey with empty space all around him. With the exception of the bartender who heard his order for whiskey, he spoke to no one and no one offered him a word either. Just by the look in his eyes, those in Laramie that knew him, and what had just happened at the ranch, knew to steer clear from his side.

It might have stayed peaceful, if one could even call an overcrowded saloon that, if a man by the name of Teddy Ferguson wasn't celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He stepped through the swinging doors with the entire male clan of Ferguson's behind him, from just old enough to imbibe all the way to his eighty-eight-year-old grandpa to give a final whoop to his festive day. There wasn't a table for them all, so with a glance at the empty space around Jess, Teddy slapped his hand on the bar with enough coins to down as many shots as he was old, and then ushered his family in beside him.

Jess didn't move, but for the first time since he'd entered the saloon, he felt the push of the crowd. The noise took on a higher level that finally penetrated into Jess' mind and in one swift action, he downed the remainder of his whiskey, the bartender not even waiting for his approval before filling it up again. The bar top began to grow with a wide assortment of glasses, arms coming in and out at a consistent speed with a cup to slosh the contents down their throats, except for the one that was closest to Jess. Grandpa Ferguson, wishing to savor the flavor of beer that he hadn't tasted since the last Ferguson birthday, fitted a shaky hand into the handle and lifted it up to his lips with a smile. After swallowing only the top portion of foam and licking the remainder from his lips, he set the glass back down onto the bar, where its still full contents splashed over the rim and onto Jess' outstretched arm.

"'Scuze me, Mister," the toothless old man gave Jess a wink and it should have ended there, but Teddy, leaning around his youngest brother to see what supposed disturbance his grandpa had caused, took one look at Jess' surly face and then took a step closer.

"Be careful, Gramps," Teddy said with a sarcastic grin. "Since Harper here has taken to shooting kids, next it's gonna be old folks like you."

"If you know what's good for you, Teddy," Jess said through his clenched teeth, "you better shut up."

"Why?" Teddy laughed, "are you gonna shoot me too? Oh wait, I guess I'm safe, because I'm not an innocent little boy."

In one quick motion, Jess wrapped his hand around the old timer's beer mug and brought it up with a direct hit of the liquid into Teddy's face which stunned the man long enough for Jess to free his hand of the glass, ball it into a fist and send Teddy backward into a pile of Ferguson men with one stout punch. Jess had taken on loudmouths before that spawned multitude battles in raucous barroom brawls where every man wound up throwing a punch, but this event wouldn't turn into a similar melee. The poker players and drovers gave the steaming man in the center of the room plenty of space, as several backed up against the walls and lined the stairwell. The non-Ferguson group was in more of a mood to watch than enter the rumble, for they had already made the mental note to not cross Jess Harper's path when they'd first laid eyes on him earlier in the night. The Ferguson's, however, wouldn't have heeded a warning if it had been given to them, for adding a fight to a birthday party only made their day that much fuller.

There was only one man in the clan that didn't raise his fist, Grandpa Ferguson. The only action he was involved in was patting Jess on the back after Teddy's punch to Jess' jaw landed his solidly built body into the old man's partially bent frame. Not going down gave Jess the responding motion to raise a foot that found the middle of Teddy's stomach, kicking the man backward into three of his brothers. With a spin of his torso and a swing to go with it, Jess hit the middle aged Ferguson, Teddy's pa, Phil, hard enough to draw blood from his nose. With Pa Ferguson on his backside on the saloon floor, that was all the incentive that was needed for his four sons to leap nearly in one motion onto Jess, fists pounding into flesh faster than they had been earlier reaching for the drinks on the bar top.

There were Ferguson cousins and uncles too, but it was the core of four that did the most damage, but Jess never fell to the ground. He fought with the fury that he'd both buried deeply and carried shallowly within himself, not caring how much pain was inflicted upon his outer flesh, for it could do nothing to compare with what raged on the inside. He sent two of Teddy's brothers into an unconscious state, making the rest of the clan pause in a moment of contemplation if they should continue the battle, lest they, too, become a victim of an unwelcomed sleep. Teddy, however, being the brazen birthday boy, hadn't had enough and with a look to his family to watch his continued bravado, he gave a mighty swing into Jess' cheek, the grunt through Jess' mouth on impact could be heard to the spectators out on the street.

Jess staggered backward, blood oozing from multiple angles of his face and as he raised his arm to produce another punch to an equally as bruised face, a shot echoed through the saloon. There was no reason to reposition his stance to take on another fighter, for the man behind the gun that pushed his way through the crowd was wearing a star and also held the honor of being Jess' friend, Mort Cory. Jess flexed open his palm, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as the Ferguson boys had become stilled with the presence of Laramie's sheriff.

"What is this all about?" Mort looked between the single fighter to his right and then to the group of Ferguson's to his left.

"Nothing," Jess spat, literally, as he sent a stream of blood into the closest spittoon.

"If you all had a look at your faces," Mort shook his head back and forth as he spoke, "then you wouldn't be calling this 'nothing'. Well, maybe you'll answer this one with a better response. Who started it?"

"I reckon if words were fists," Jess nodded toward Teddy, "then he'd get the title, but I was the one that struck first, Mort." Jess knew he was guilty, after all, hadn't he worn the mark of a guilty man on his heart since he last pulled a trigger? Everyone else in the room had seen whose face started to bleed first, so there was no point in trying to cover up the truth.

"I think I understand," Mort nodded slowly, letting his gaze fall entirely upon Teddy Ferguson, "and if I'm right, I think you and your reveling family got what you deserved."

"Oh, but Sheriff Cory," Phil Ferguson stood in front of his son, "Teddy just got a little out of hand, it's his birthday, you know. No real harm done, is there?"

"All right, Phil," Mort said with a sigh, "just as long as the damages get paid. Come on, Jess, outside."

"Sorry about your beer, Pops," Jess said to a beaming Grandpa Ferguson, tossing a coin to the bartender in an indication to refill the man's lost brew.

"No worries, Son," Grandpa Ferguson said, raising his refill high. "That was the most fun I've had in a long time. Purely enjoyed every minute of it. Sorry boys," this being directed to his offspring, "but I always did like a good brawl to go with my drink."

There was a man that had gone fairly ignored in the corner of the saloon that promptly exited after the commotion died down, his aim to tell an important piece of news that he'd discovered there. Nothing about the fight, or that the two main players that were involved escaped punishment because of a slight bias on the sheriff's side would be on his tongue. He didn't care how large the Ferguson clan was or that one of their own was another year older, or how much money was won in any of the poker games. He hadn't spotted a sweet little gal to woo or tempt one of his buddies with a descriptive detail of her curves. What he knew and what he'd tell could give him a nice sum in his pocket, especially if delivered to the right person, and fortunately for him, he knew just that man. He retrieved his horse from the hitching rail, unable to not flick his eyes at the subject of his newsworthy item once more, standing next to the sheriff just off of the street and with a smile, he rode out of town to relay the news. Jess Harper wasn't wearing his gun.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A black eye, bloody nose, split lip and various marks of deep toned coloring on his face couldn't be hidden. Jess knew as soon as he stepped his foot in the front door that it would clearly indicate that he'd been in a fight and the reason for such a raucous brawl wouldn't be too hard to guess. As it was deepening in the later hours of the evening, likely Daisy would already be in bed, but Slim, since he had stayed up waiting for him the night of the shooting, could very well be doing the same this night. Even if Slim was abed, his battered face, like the rest of his soul, couldn't recover by morning. Jess rubbed one of the lumps on his cheek and then reached up to tug his hat lower to his eyes, knowing that there wasn't any point in trying to hide the incident at the saloon, for the early morning eastbound stage would carry the news of the chaos that had happened there if he didn't first.

Even with that understanding, when Jess rode up to the ranch house, dismounted and led his horse into the barn, he fluffed a pile of hay in an empty stall to spend the night. With the exception of the moonlit sky pouring its small amount of light through the window, the barn was completely dark, and despite staring into the nothingness that was in front of him, it was impossible to keep his mind blank. Jess was only one thought away from seeing the gun in his hand and hearing the report that it made, and after that thought came and went with a groan in his throat that reverberated down into his chest, he searched for something safer, if even only temporary. Jess took his hat off, rubbing his hand through his hair as he had done when Mort had escorted him outside after the brawl was finished, seeing once more the sheriff as when he had been standing in front of him earlier in the evening.

"Jess," Mort had said with slight exasperation, "the more you let this thing eat you up, the harder it's going to get. Do you think that there is only one blowhard like Teddy Ferguson in this town?"

"If they come squawking, I'll shut 'em up like I did tonight," Jess popped his fist into an open palm.

"No you won't," Mort said as he pointed toward the saloon doors. "Jess I could've thrown you in jail for what happened in there and I…"

"Go ahead."

"What?" Mort asked, the perplexed look on his face evident even in the darkening light.

"Go ahead and put me in jail," Jess frowned, but the challenge around his jaw line was all too real.

"Because that's going to do the family so much good at the ranch," Mort's voice held much sarcasm, and if Jess hadn't been squinting his eyes through the pain of them getting hit more than a few times, he likely would have rolled them over exaggeratingly back at the lawman.

"Ain't it where a killer belongs?"

"You're not a killer, Jess," Mort said, sarcasm gone, the sincerity, however, was just as real. "Mike didn't die."

"No," Jess replied, shaking his head, dropping his chin a few notches as he did so, "but living or dying, that don't change what I am."

"What are you, Jess?" Mort's question was never answered, for with a tug on his horse's reins, Jess was off the ground and into the saddle in three short seconds, nudging his horse in motion with the next tick on the watch in Mort's pocket.

"What am I indeed," Jess breathed the query quietly as he slapped his hat firmly in the hay chaff beside him, the earlier conversation behind him as the present became in focus once more, "a partner? A friend? A rancher? Or just a rotten gunman?"

He'd carried a reputation with his gun for many more years than he had worn the title of a rancher, or even a friend for that matter. Jess had been on his own for so long in his younger years, that he could say that he still hadn't fully adjusted to staying in one place since joining up with Slim, which proved evident nearly every single time he got back out on the trail. Yet the more time that had passed as he'd made the Sherman ranch his home, the reputation had been shelved, like his original gun had been tucked away in the hidden wooden cubby on the mantel. But since he'd put one on in its place, had anything changed at all? Perhaps not five years ago, but something was definitely different today.

The gun was gone, his hip was barren. The absence of the leather belt felt strange, for a weapon had hung below his waistline since he was fifteen years old. That one then had been a mite too big around a scrawny backside, but the more he filled in, solidifying his shape, the better the belt, or another one like it fit, and the more he perfected his aim. Or so he thought. Perfection wouldn't have hit Mike. Perfection wouldn't have discarded his gun. Perfection wouldn't be sitting in the barn alone. And perfection wouldn't feel like he was the dirtiest man on earth.

A sad, empty heart made a body feel heavy. Coupled with the battering his face and limbs took from the fight, Jess' back began to drop lower, flattening deeper into the hay until his head was at the same level. Jess knew what was coming, as it was what his inner being wanted, but he also wanted to fight it, but the power of his fight had been expelled in the saloon. He blinked his eyes rapidly three times and then the fourth time they stayed closed. Jess only shook his head once to try to dispel the sleep that crept upon him, but when he let a soft sigh escape through his lips, he was gone.

Awakening after the sun had just crested the horizon, the previous sigh turned into a moan as the barroom created aches returned with full force. Jess rolled over, as sometime in his sleep he'd tossed himself to one side and as he flipped onto his back, a blanket fell away from his body. He touched the corner of the fabric that hadn't been present when he'd made the makeshift bed and looked toward the closed barn door. Slim. There had been no missing his partner's face in the window as Jess had ridden in during the night, even though he had only flicked his eyes in that direction once.

Jess rose, carrying the blanket with him and as he stepped free from the barn, Slim was standing near the corral. Their eyes met and Jess raised his blanket filled hand slightly, indicating his next gesture was in response to the gift in the night. Jess nodded his thanks, received a smile in return and then with his eyes back on what was directly in front of him, Jess regained his pace and went through the front door of the house, depositing an untidily folded blanket on the nearest chair.

There were three inner doors in the Sherman house, all going to separate bedrooms. The first, Slim and Jess shared, and this door was wide open, showing the emptiness of the interior. The second belonged to Mike, and it was left ajar, not far enough open to see the room's contents, but enough to be able to push open without making much sound. The third, which Daisy occupied, was fully closed. If there hadn't been a scent of coffee coming from the kitchen, Jess would have assumed that Daisy was still in bed, but since she must have started the brew boiling, she likely was changing from her nightgown and robe to one of her flowery dresses that she usually wore.

Jess stepped further into the room, grateful that he was the only one in its center, for it wasn't just the bruises on his face that he wanted to conceal, but everything that his body portrayed. Tension, guilt, sorrow, deep pain and indescribable feelings, all showed in each of his movements. He paused near Mike's bedroom door and inhaled a deep breath, letting it release through his mouth with a near quiver to his lips. Since Doctor Sweeney had arrived, both Daisy and Slim had spent numerous hours by the boy's bedside, but Jess hadn't once stepped back into the room. With a gentle push on the partially open door, Jess entered, the air quickly being sucked back into his lungs as he did so.

Mike lay with his head on the pillow, the blankets up to his neck, and he was fast asleep. With the caged squirrel on the table nearest the window still deep in its slumber like the boy that cared for him, the room was cloaked in silence. But this was a description that only existed for the room itself. In the head that wore a sweat-lined black hat, the sound of a gunshot echoed in his mind, reverberating with each thrum of the heartbeat in his temples as he looked at Mike's still frame.

Mike's face wasn't as pale as when Jess had last viewed it, but seeing the pinker tone only brought forth the shocked expression that the boy had worn as the bullet took him down. Jess bit the inside of his cheek and ran his hand around the back of his neck, feeling nervous enough to want to flee, but his feet stayed planted to the floor. The boy stirred, but didn't fully awake, yet the movement made Jess flinch, his boots scooting far enough that the spurs gave a slight jingle, which brought a pair of tiny black eyes open to view him through its cage.

"I'm sorry I did this, Mike," Jess spoke softly, but even in the quiet tone, there was a gruffness that didn't come from grit, but what usually makes a voice crack, a tear. "I woulda never hurt you, I…"

He heard the sound of Daisy exiting her room, her footsteps naturally coming in the direction of Mike's room, but when she saw the door wide open, at its entryway, she stopped. If Jess would have turned in her direction, he would have viewed the older woman standing with her hands clasped together under her chin, with a smile that beamed bright enough on her face that it showed that the moisture glistening in her eyes were from pure delight. She stepped away then, nearly tiptoeing to the kitchen, leaving Jess in his alone time with Mike, but even with her presence in the kitchen, Jess didn't resume a heartfelt speech.

Only a few more minutes would Jess remain there. Mike started to arouse, with a hand coming out from the covers to rub an eye that hadn't yet become open. The squirrel jumped up, a welcoming chatter pouring through its mouth, glad to see its human friend coming around and knowing that a bite of food soon would follow. Jess knew it would only be moments before Mike's slumber was completely gone, so he started stepping backward, and once through the bedroom door, his pace quickened toward the nearest exit.

"Jess," Daisy implored, coming from the kitchen with a bowl of pancake batter in her hands, "where are you going?"

"I've gotta get back to that fencing that I didn't finish the other day," Jess answered, not looking over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

And farther away, in another part of the country, a hand was writing down what tick-tapped over the telegraph wires, a message that the delivery boy would soon take out when he returned from giving Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler the good news that they were grandparents again. What he was writing down was far different than the celebratory words from the previous wire, and this one, like some others he translated, was nothing that most people would understand. Slapping the final dot on the line he made sure it was written correctly and then folded it, penning the recipient's name on the front. The telegraph operator knew him, and his notorious profession, as nearly everyone in the town he'd resided in did, but the other name was a mystery. Jess Harper. Whoever this Harper was, he couldn't help but suddenly feel sorry for, because he seemed to have just become a reviled gunfighter's next target.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

He'd made progress. Or at least that's what Jess called it when he finally was able to face Mike when he was awake. It had been at night, and Jess had made an untrue assumption that Mike was asleep, but when he poked his head through the door, he'd found the boy wide awake. A conversation was unavoidable, but it consisted of short sentences, mostly wanting to know how each other was feeling, which produced an honest answer from Mike, but a white lie from Jess. Their time was cut shorter than either would have truly wanted, for Daisy, hearing chattering at the late hour, stepped from her room in her nightclothes, to give a gentle, yet somehow firm, suggestion that everyone should get to sleep. Jess exited with a nod and a promise, and the following afternoon it would get fulfilled.

"Hi, Jess," Mike's grin lit up the room more than the sunlight pouring through the window. "Did you bring your cards?"

"Yeah," Jess held up the requested deck and sat down on the bed, fully aware of how much easier it was to seat himself on a cushioned surface without a holster attached to his side. "Whatcha wanna see?"

"Four aces, all in a row," Mike replied, instantly attaching his eyes to the man's hands that began to rearrange the deck of cards in a fashion to deliver the correct cards rapidly in front of the eager set of eyes.

"Let me see what I can do," Jess knew by touch that he wasn't getting the aces where he wanted them, normally placing two on the top and two on the bottom to deal quick enough that even a skilled viewer couldn't detect their placement, but the more he shuffled, the more his fingers couldn't find what they were searching for. He saw the quick underside of the ace of hearts and secured it in position, but just when he thought he had them all where he wanted, the king of spades suddenly fluttered to the top bed sheet, followed by only two of the four requested aces. "I reckon for some reason my hands don't wanna shuffle them in all the right places," Jess explained, quickly gathering the infamous cards into a haphazard stack.

"That's ok," Mike leaned his head and shoulders into the extra pillow that Daisy had kept on the bed at all times since his injury. "I'd rather just talk instead."

That's exactly what Jess had wanted to avoid, but since the cards couldn't entertain, something else would have to. And Mike chose talk. He slid the cards into his pocket, knowing well enough the reason why he couldn't get the aces to work, for his hands, particularly his gun hand, hadn't performed anything in perfection since he'd last handled a gun. He wasn't sure his words would come with any skill either, for sharing personal feelings had always been something he'd struggled with, and his were still enraged in a battle within him.

"What do you wanna talk about?"

"Anything," Mike replied quickly, his smile still shining. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Uh," Jess bit his bottom lip, looking down to the floor as seeing the glow on Mike's face made the guilt rub into his internal wounds like it was salt being ground into his skin, while he searched for a subject to discuss. "Do you miss school?" It was a safe subject, or at least, Jess hoped it would be.

"Shucks, Jess," Mike shook his head, "how can I miss school when Aunt Daisy's in here every night reading my school work to me?"

"I guess she just wants to make sure you stay educated up," Jess answered quickly, "so you won't turn out all rough at the edges like me."

"Gee, Jess," Mike laughed, despite the ache that persisted when he did so, "that's what makes you so admirable."

There was nothing Jess could say in response, only creating an argument within himself about all of the million reasons why no one, especially Mike, should be looking up to him. Jess knew exactly what he was and what he'd been, but no amount of explaining about any gunfighter's history would change the view of him that was being expressed through Mike's eyes at that moment. Jess opened his mouth to attempt to close that particular subject, but ended up closing his mouth before he found any words that closely resembled his own feelings on the matter.

"I wish Aunt Daisy'd take off the bandage," Mike interrupted the thickening silence as he touched the white cloth with two fingers, trying to pry it up on one side.

"Why?" Jess' voice suddenly took on a note of concern. "Does it hurt?"

"Not that much," Mike replied, still poking at the bandages. "I just wanna look at it and see if it's got all puckery. If it makes a good scab, it'll make a better scar. Doc did such a good job last year on my shoulder that I can barely see it now, but when Aunt Daisy said this wound was much worse, I got to hoping I'd get to keep the mark of it forever."

"Why would you want it to stay forever?" Jess asked, thinking about some of the scars on his own body from various wounds that he often wished wouldn't be on display every time he took his shirt off.

"'Cause this one's from you," Mike said, the pride in his voice not difficult to miss.

"What?" Jess asked, visibly drawing himself backward.

"It makes it special," Mike smoothed the bandaging with his hand from where he'd mussed up the edges trying to peer underneath. Jess' mouth was slightly ajar, trying to find words to speak in response, but Mike didn't notice the expression on Jess' face, or if he did, the shock, confusion and pulsating remorse didn't register in the young boy's mind so he continued before Jess uttered another sound. "How many men, I say that 'cause both Doc Sweeney and Sheriff Cory called me a tough man, anyway, how many of us can say that we were shot by the famous Jess Harper and live to tell about it? Well, I get to!"

The grin spread even wider and at the same moment, the pain inside of Jess tore even deeper where it, and his entire self, couldn't be contained in a small bedroom any longer. Jess barely spoke a parting word to Mike and then stormed through the front door, splitting a yard full of squawking chickens who'd just received their afternoon feed from Daisy's apron, not even noticing Sheriff Mort Cory riding away from the house on a northerly trail.

The trail was well used, as most of the paths on Sherman property usually were, so Mort didn't need much direction when he'd stopped at the house to inquire about Slim. He'd gently asked about Jess, and although Daisy had offered to get him from inside, Mort declined, for this conversation was best placed to the man's ranch partner instead. It didn't take too long to catch up to where Slim was working, but every minute that had passed, Mort spent in thought in how to open what needed to be told.

"Howdy, Slim," Mort said when he pulled his horse to a stop when Slim's tall frame was directly in front of him. "Miss Daisy said that I'd find you out here."

"Mort," Slim answered with a nod as he held the sheriff's mount still while he dismounted. "What brings you all this way in the middle of the day?"

"Well, Slim," Mort tipped his hat backward slightly to wipe the moisture away from his forehead with his sleeve, "news, information, maybe a warning. Whatever you choose to call it, I wanted to bring it to your ears first."

"Something about Jess?"

"I'm afraid so," Mort pulled from his pocket a small stack of telegrams. "I received a wire yesterday from Marshal Branch McGary, asking if Jess giving up his gun is true."

"Where'd he hear about that?"

"It's common talk, now, I'd imagine, especially here locally, in and around Laramie," Mort shrugged and then raised an eyebrow, "but it shouldn't be in Texas."

"Texas?" Slim said with just as much astonishment as question.

"McGary's cousin is a lawman down in Galveston, and he sent a wire to him here in Wyoming saying that a pretty bad fight broke out between two gunslingers that both wanted to take down the now unarmed Jess Harper. The man that lost the fight wound up in jail and told Ellis, that's the cousin, what the fight had been about. But he never did apprehend the other man involved, Lance Dillman."

"Which means he's probably headed here," Slim said softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Him and maybe others."

"Others?"

"I can only guess, Slim," Mort said with a soft sigh. "It's no secret that a man with a reputation such as Jess carries with him, even after all these years of him staying on the right side of the law, accumulates a vast array of enemies. Once the word is fully out that Jess is no longer wearing iron, and apparently it's close to being that now, it's only natural that those enemies are going to want to take advantage of this sudden change."

"They know he's not wearing a gun," Slim stared down at his boots, although he didn't see the dusty tips of his toes as he shook his head back and forth. "Haven't they thought that if one of them pulls the trigger on him it'd be murder, not a gunfight?"

"The kind of men that we're talking about are far too vile to care, Slim," Mort answered, the truth in his words bringing Slim's head up. "Jess is going to have trouble if Dillman or anyone else comes calling. Has Jess talked at all about putting the belt back on?"

"No," Slim replied the short word solemnly.

"I never thought I'd see the day where Jess Harper isn't wearing a gun."

"It's been five days since he took it off," Slim crossed his arms over his chest, "and I'm still not used to the sight of its absence. I doubt I ever will."

"Maybe Jess won't either," Mort's statement brought a pair of blue eyes to collide with an understanding set of brown ones. "A gunfighter coming just might make a difference."

"I don't know, Mort," Slim said, slowly, thinking of how his partner might react to the news that was printed on the telegrams in Mort's hand. "Do you think I should tell him?"

"I do," Mort nodded and soon Slim's own head repeated the gesture, "the sooner the better."

"I guess this section of fence can wait until tomorrow," Slim immediately bent at the waist and gathered the tools that were near his feet and as soon as they were secure in the pack on his mount, he rode to the ranch house, waving when Mort reached the bend in the road that would take the sheriff back to Laramie.

Slim pulled his horse to a stop before he even reached the hitching rail in front of the house, his attention entirely focused on Jess near the barn. Slim slowly dismounted, knowing that his horse wouldn't wander even if the reins weren't tied to anything, and then walked toward Jess, who was pacing, more like storming in various directions, then stopping, clenching both fists before starting moving again. Even though there were no physical bars erected around him, Jess looked like a caged animal, but perhaps, in his mind, an iron barrier existed.

"Jess?" Slim asked, feeling a tremble of fear tickle his backbone. "What's wrong? Is it Mike?" Despite the fact that before Slim had ridden out to work that morning, Mike had been sitting up in bed, asking for more than just broth to sip, but a full plate, he couldn't help but feel a jab of worry by Jess' demeanor.

"No," the short answer was clipped, and its continuation was even harder snapped. "It's all about me, and everything's wrong."

"Why?" Slim stepped close to Jess, making his partner's feet finally become stilled.

"I just finished talking to Mike in there," Jess pointed toward the house, but looked down to the ground.

"You were?" Slim's voice leapt with a note of excitement. "I saw that he was feeling better this morning. That must have made you feel…"

"Hold up, Slim," Jess interrupted with raised hand. "I'm more than pleased that Mike's recovering, but it don't change a thing with what's going on inside me."

"But Jess…"

"Just listen to me for a minute, Slim. You don't know what it's like with a raging war of guilt going on inside of me. I'm the reason he's laying there in bed all bandaged up and Mike's acting like I didn't do a dad-gummed thing wrong. He's happy, can you believe it? I can hardly take it, and he's grinning like he's just been given a present. It'd be so much easier if he hated me."

"Did you ever think that he can't hate you, no matter what's been done, because he loves you?" Slim spoke the meaningful words slowly, but the shadows only deepened on Jess' face. "Hatred doesn't exist where there is love."

"That's easy for you to say, Slim," Jess said with just as much grief as there was anger resounding in his deeply toned voice. "You wouldn't be preaching to me if it was your bullet that was dug outta Mike. I gotta go."

"Wait, Jess," Slim grabbed hold of Jess' arm to pause his partner's retreating steps, knowing that he'd never stop by his request only. "That isn't all."

"Ain't it?" Jess asked, eyes staring at the hand gripping into his flesh. "It is as far as I'm concerned."

"There's something I need to tell you," Slim said rapidly, hoping that Jess would actually look at him, and see in his features that there was genuine concern showing there.

"Go ahead," Jess crossed his arms over his chest, dreading that Slim was going to give another sermon about love and other such feelings, even if he did need to hear one.

"There's a man gunning for you," Slim's reply finally brought a troubled set of eyes to rise up to meet his partner's as he further explained. "Lance Dillman. Do you know him?" Slim watched a slight nod of Jess' head and then continued. "Dillman knows about you not wearing a gun anymore, and since he does, all the way down in Texas I might add, there's bound to be others that know too."

The response wasn't what Slim was hoping for, or even expecting. In fact, there wasn't much of a response at all. Jess stood still, the only noticeable difference from hearing the news was registered on his face, the darkening of eyes as they narrowed and a tightly clenched jaw. His stance didn't automatically stiffen like it normally would have done and his right hand remained motionless, without its familiar movement to touch the gun that would have been at his hip. Slim couldn't help but center his focus on that barren hip, the sight sending a shaft of cold air around his frame until he nearly shivered.

"You need to wear a gun, Jess," Slim said, raising his eyes, searching for his partner's intense blue shade that suddenly were alight with fire, which Slim would have been glad to see, except he knew the fire was aimed at him, and not for a traveling gunfighter.

"I ain't gonna put it on, Slim," Jess' reply held the beginning of a growl.

"Then one of those gunfighters that are after you will gun you down without a fight," Slim spoke rapidly, unable to keep his voice low as he watched the sparks in Jess' eyes grow dim.

"Let them."

The two words were spoken like the slamming of a book being closed; his utterance declaring "the end". Slim stared at Jess' retreating frame and couldn't help but wonder how close they were from actually reaching their own end. Without a gun, without a fight, they'd soon be without Jess.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sheriff Mort Cory leaned against the hitching rail in front of his office, surveying the daily activity of his town. There wasn't much going on, aside from a few troublemakers that he had to remind what the law clearly stated earlier in the morning, which fortunately gave a nod that they'd settle down, otherwise they'd be occupying one of the jail cells. With a fairly quiet late-morning underway, Mort had been able to get in several minutes of conversation with the doctor when he arrived back in town from a call, the subject focusing mostly on Mike and not common chatter about the day's weather. It had been two weeks since Mike had been shot, and according to the good doctor, "was becoming more like himself every single day." Mort knew the statement meant getting into mischief, like sneaking a cookie out of the jar Daisy kept in the cupboard by the front door, of which Mort had the pleasure of dipping into a time or two himself.

Mort hadn't needed to inquire about the other situation out at the Sherman ranch, as he was kept informed by most of the stagecoach drivers every day that Jess' hip was still bare. With the exception of the night Teddy Ferguson spouted off at the mouth, and had it nailed shut by Jess, there hadn't been any more trouble regarding the momentous change in Jess Harper, at least not what he'd heard. Mort wouldn't have been surprised if there were some titters amongst the Laramie gossipers and unruly citizens, but they knew enough to not let it reach the sheriff's ears. And, since the display in the saloon had left more than one Ferguson with a black eye and a couple of sprained wrists, it wasn't likely that any of the gossiping locals would take their opinions out to the Sherman ranch to be tested.

Mort would have been the first to admit it, however, that it wasn't his own townspeople's potential bad behavior that had worried him over the last ten to twelve days, but because of someone much farther away. Yet, enough time had passed that Mort couldn't help but wonder if the telegrams that he'd exchanged between Marshal McGary and the cousin lawman in Texas were just a bunch of boastful talk and not backed up by action. Nevertheless, Mort did his best to stay informed, even going so far as inquiring about Lance Dillman's appearance so that if he showed up in Laramie, Mort would know about it.

The hour leading up to noontime took Mort away from the hitching rail as he had to direct Huey Stephens, only seven, to not practice his roping in the middle of the street and then a few minutes later, to tell the same boy to not try to lasso a lawman from behind. The rope knocked Mort's hat off and because it was just one of those instances where one thing led to another, a gust of wind carried Mort's hat into the middle of the street where a wagon promptly rolled over the top of it. When an attempt at shaking his finger at a laughing little boy only made a twitch form on his own lips, Mort shooed Huey in the direction of his mother and then walked to where his crumpled hat lay. He slapped it against his thigh to partially regain its shape and with the need to put the last few minutes behind him, he headed for the diner, where an early lunch would hopefully set the tone for a smoother transition into the afternoon.

Mort sat in the window seat in the diner, a proper place for a lawman that always watched over his town, his meal already ordered and being prepared. He unfolded the checkered napkin and tucked it in his neck, knowing by the minutes that had ticked off since he'd told the Widow Poppins that he'd have the special that it would be arriving soon. Picking up the cup of coffee, Mort was about to put it to his lips when a stranger rode into Laramie. Setting the cup back to the table with a clank of the glass, he peered through the window, the telegram that he'd received from Texas imprinted in his memory was like a flash of lightning in front of his eyes. Black hair, mustache, both with a sprinkling of gray, brown eyes, nose with an apparent break, and right hand that was always, always bare, while the left remained gloved. The description fit like that leather glove. Lance Dillman.

The widow woman was just placing the steaming, aromatic plate in front of him when Mort stood, ignoring the inviting dinner plate and the irritated look Widow Poppins gave him and then walked out of the door. He pulled the napkin from his neck and stuffed it in his rear pocket, aiming steadily for the man that had just dismounted in front of Windy's. If the man was aiming for a dose of whiskey to bolster his nerves or inquire Jess Harper's whereabouts, or both, Mort wasn't going to allow him to make it through the swinging doors.

"Dillman," Mort called out, making the man with the highly noticeable broken nose turn rapidly to face him, the bare hand hovering dangerously close to his gun until he spied the star on Mort's chest.

"I ain't got no quarrel with you, Sheriff," Dillman said with a sullen frown.

"You have a quarrel with me if you have one with Jess Harper," Mort answered.

"Oh?" Dillman suddenly broke into laughter. "What makes you think I'm in town because of him?"

"This badge makes it my business to know those details," Mort said with a point to his star and firmly planted his feet to the ground.

"So what if I am?" Dillman shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly. "It ain't a crime to wanna meet up with someone I knew a long time ago."

"It is if you're planning on gunning him down."

"Why do I get the feeling that there's more than a badge talking to me?" Dillman asked with eyebrows raised.

"The badge speaks loud and clear for itself," Mort answered with a slight nod, "but just so you know that you're not mistaking, Jess is my friend."

"I see," Dillman, said slowly, narrowing his eyes at the lawman that stood unwaveringly in front of him, ready to take him on, in the name of the law and friendship, a somewhat sticky combination. He knew right then that if he was going to handle Harper, he had to stop this one first. Dillman's mouth went up in a smirk, assuming that there wouldn't be any problem in doing so and his hand began to flex above his gun.

"Hold it," Mort's command was full of authority, yet it didn't cause the correct reaction from Dillman. Instead of moving his hand away from his gun, it inched closer, until the next second passed and the gun was releasing from its leather holster and finding its aim.

Mort dropped to the ground as he drew his gun and after a swift roll in the dirt to avoid a couple of too close for comfort bullets, pulled the trigger. Dillman clutched his chest, the gun falling to the ground before the body did, giving the gunman the opportunity to look quickly to his right before unconsciousness stole his vision. Mort slowly rose from the ground, not holstering his weapon until he saw Dillman's completely still form. Doctor Sweeney was swift to arrive on scene, and after checking for a pulse, glanced at Mort, giving him a look that told Mort what he already knew, that Dillman was dead. Mort thanked the doctor with a short word and a nod, already planning a ride out to the Sherman ranch to give the news that the main threat was gone once everything cleared up in town.

Townspeople always had to gawk when there had been a killing, and this situation would be no different. The gathering to the scene, with some walking, some rushing, helped make a man, dressed mostly in black with the only color to his attire being a red handkerchief around his neck, blend in. Dillman had looked to his right before he died, seeing this man that would have been pleased to see his final moment, but in his dying state, could do nothing but look. They'd been professional rivals with a common enemy and now with one of them down, there was only one left to challenge.

With a tug on the red bandana and a wicked smile growing on his face, he walked to his horse, just as the body on the ground was being taken to the funeral parlor. Lance Dillman, dead and soon to be buried, had turned into the perfect decoy, set up by his own hatred for a former gunslinger and a string of cohorts that would get their fair pay. A good gunfighter, or perhaps the best of the best, knew how to create distractions when he had a target, even if the one on the top of his list no longer wore an iron. He touched the telegram that had been neatly folded in his pocket since the day he'd received it, quoting it word for word inside of his head as he turned his mount eastward, adding his own personal line aloud when he came to the message's conclusion. "Jess Harper's finally gonna die."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Where's Jess?" Slim asked as he washed the dust from his hands, face, neck and everywhere else where skin was exposed.

"I don't know," Daisy replied from the kitchen doorway. "He didn't come in at noon."

"That's not like him," Slim took the towel that Daisy offered and wiped dry everything that he'd rinsed, "especially when you have a pie sitting in the windowsill."

Slim draped the towel over the water pump to dry and then ran a hand through his hair, keeping his eye to the road above him. He'd been too far from the house since sunup, so there hadn't been any plan for his return for the noontime meal. Slim had munched on packed biscuits and jerky, but Jess was only working a short ride from the house so that he could tend the stagecoaches, close enough to hear the high pitched ring that would have called him home.

"Ah, come on, Buttons," Mike's playful shout turned Slim's head away from the road, "bring the ball here. I can only throw it if you drop it! Ew, and then you get it all slobbery and wet!"

"It's good to see Mike out playing," Slim said, although with the conversation suddenly shifting, it wasn't because he had become distracted from Jess' absence. He didn't want the worry that suddenly formed in his middle to register on his face in front of Daisy, so he developed a smile watching Mike trying to teach Buttons to retrieve.

"Yes," Daisy nodded, "I told him that as long as he didn't run, he could romp around with Buttons for awhile, although I must say, it's getting harder and harder each day to keep him held back from doing the things he really wants to do."

"All the signs of a healthy boy," Slim said as he turned to walk through the kitchen door. He grabbed a sugar coated cookie from a plate on the table before walking into the room he shared with Jess, and even though he knew he wouldn't find his partner there, it was as if his eyes had to see for himself that it was true.

"Slim?" Daisy waited until he returned to the main room before continuing. "Aren't you going to go look for Jess? I'm concerned, too."

"I guess I should never try to hide my feelings from you," Slim hugged Daisy close to his side and then with an extra pat to her shoulder, he nodded, "I'll go look for him."

"Be extra careful, Slim," Daisy clasped her hands together in front of her when Slim put his hand on the doorknob to exit.

"I will."

Slim knew the reasoning of Daisy's cautioning, even though it wasn't expressed out loud. The talk of gunfighter's from Texas or any other whereabouts wasn't a topic that was discussed amongst the Sherman household, but it was impossible to stop the talk that came in on the stagecoaches. It had been the third day after the news had been given to Slim about the potential visitors that it had been relayed to Daisy's ears, the fear that had shadowed her eyes at its mention was still visible all these days later, now with this, they only became intensified.

Slim tried to keep his own fears in check as he started searching until he knew if there was more cause for concern then just the several "what ifs" that wanted to run rapidly through his head. Jess could have been only taking his frustrations out on his body with hard work, forgetting the time or ignoring the dinner signal, he could have met up with a neighbor in need, or found some strays roaming off the property. But then there was always the worst case that had to hang on the end of scenarios; Jess could have met up with Lance Dillman. Slim hadn't heard any gunfire from where he'd been located earlier in the day, but the distance could have been far enough where a gun's loud blast could have been muted by the hills that separated them. After that thought took residence in Slim's mind, fear couldn't be kept at bay any longer.

Hurrying his horse over the terrain, Slim pulled to a halt when the land opened up in front of him and there wasn't any sign of Jess. The straight fence line was interrupted in the center of the field by a gate that had been part of Jess' earliest duty. Slim walked his horse to where the fix had been needed, noticing immediately that the hinges were still loose on the gate. Searching with his eyes all around the area, Slim saw that the only horse tracks there were a couple of days old, likely from his own mount when he had made the discovery that the hinges needed replacing. The signs in front of him all indicated that Jess had never made it this far. Slim nudged his horse into motion, his search shifting farther to the north, uncertain what he would find next.

Around the hill Slim came to another abrupt stop. In front of him were the remnants of a fresh campfire. It was only ashes now, but it was obvious that someone had spent the night there. It wasn't completely unusual to find where someone had ignored the No Trespassing signs on Sherman property and set up camp anyway, but considering its close proximity to the house, and the threat of retaliating gunfighters, it seemed even more suspicious. Now more than ever, Slim's pulse intensified with a hard jab to his chest, knowing the vital need to find Jess.

Water sources were always a first place to look, and since the nearest creek trailed directly into the lake, Slim decided he'd follow the trickling stream until it opened into the vast circle of water. He found fresh horse tracks crossing through the shallowest portion and after following for a short distance, the tree line opened up and Slim finally was able to breathe a sigh of relief. There was Jess, seated along the lake's shore, boots and socks piled on the grassy bank beside him with both feet draped into the water. Slim tied his horse to a tree alongside his partner's mount and then strode down the slope to where Jess sat. There was little acknowledgement that came from the man soaking his feet, but when there wasn't resistance to his presence, Slim sat down beside him.

"Did you forget how to swim and only want to let your feet enjoy some refreshing?" Slim asked, pushing his hat farther back on his head to fully take in Jess' facial response before the worded one came.

"No. Too bad it wasn't as simple as that, though. I came across a campfire with embers still smoking," Jess pointed behind him at the hill where Slim had just discovered the same sight a few minutes before. "While I was looking around to see if the trespasser was close by, I stepped on an ant nest. Them critters crawled over my feet so fast I couldn't skip outta their way and they snuck down my boots, into my socks and before I knew it were chewing on my toes. I yanked my boots and socks off so fast, kicking and mad, I stepped backward and whatta you think I found? My bare feet right into the hot campfire."

"Ouch," Slim winced at Jess' description.

"Yeah," Jess pulled a foot out of the water, touched the red mark that was still there and then plopped it back into the lake with a splash. "I figured the lake would sooth my dad-gummed feet, so I came down here. Since you're here checking up on me, I reckon I kinda lost track of time. I never realized before how much time a man has to just think when he's sitting around doing nothing." Jess picked up a rock that was beside him and tossed it into the water with force. "With too many thoughts."

"It'd be easier to put those thoughts into words for a listening ear."

Jess barely moved his head in Slim's direction, but his eyes shifted completely to the right. For the most part they snapped with their usual fire, but underneath the angry spark, was a glistening hue that cried out for help. Slim didn't miss either emotion and he latched onto the one that spoke with the most intensity, which was completely created by pain. Slim felt that there was something seeping from Jess' being that was giving permission to open up that painful wound, but if he turned out to be wrong, Slim wondered if he would have to brace himself for a full retaliation. He'd take it if it would come, for Jess, and all of his tumultuous problems, were that important.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop taking this so hard," Slim said, trying to take the steps with his words slowly, "but you need to take a look at the greater picture and see from a wider point of view other than your own. I know it was your gun and trigger, your finger and hand, but it wasn't your head and heart. You didn't intentionally shoot Mike."

"No," Jess replied, his voice deep, yet very thick with emotion, "but I still did. I shoulda seen him, shoulda seen the barn door open, shoulda waited to fire until that piece of crow bait was clear of the barn knowing Mike was in there and there was probably other things I shoulda done different, too. But I didn't and I shot Mike."

"If you want to keep laying blame for Mike getting shot, then you better include all of us in it. Wait," the deep rumble in Jess' chest was evidence enough that he was ready to interject, "just listen to what I have to say, Pard. A few minutes ago you said you were doing some thinking, well think back to what happened before we heard Mike shout. There were other parts of the story that day involving Mike that didn't just include you. Daisy instructed Mike to go get the milk out of the well and then I told him to feed Buttons while he was out there. Remember that? If Daisy had brought the milk in before noontime like she often does and had it all poured and ready for the meal, Mike wouldn't have needed to go out there. If I hadn't asked Mike to feed Buttons, he wouldn't have needed to go around to the feed bin where Saunders was hiding. We all feel shared guilt in this, but no one, no one's laying blame at anyone's feet, especially by Mike. Do you know what he told me just last night? He said, 'I should have listened to you and stayed inside the barn. Don't let Jess keep feeling guilty when it never would have happened if I would've only obeyed'."

Silence took over for several minutes. Perhaps for the first time since he'd pulled the trigger, Jess was able to see beyond the bullet's near fatal path. It had been easy to only view the scene from his standpoint, as it still slapped the backside of his eyelids often when Jess closed his eyes, but it was true that there was more than just one perspective that day. Details didn't just exist from his body, but the biggest element remained as the gun in his hand, as no one else drew it but him. Guilt knew the right one to choose, him.

"I wonder who made the camp last night," Slim mused aloud, not wanting their much needed conversation to die out completely.

"I dunno," Jess shrugged, swishing his feet in the water, "some drifter, probably. Too bad he never learnt how to put out a campfire."

"Gunfighter, maybe?"

"You gotta cut that out, Slim," Jess shook his head a few times before continuing. "The only gunfighter around here is Jess Harper. And he ain't a threat no more."

"You've never been a threat."

"Wanna bet?"

"Jess," Slim's sigh escaped too loudly, but he couldn't retrieve it once it was out. Jess looked at him harshly and Slim worried if in that one act he'd already unraveled everything he'd just attempted to mend. He reached out to try to grab a hold of the last thread before it was gone for good. With a soft expression on his face, not quite a smile, but far from a darkened scowl, Slim said, "if it's the right man wearing one, a gun shouldn't define that man."

"It did for me," Jess answered, his voice a notch lower than the burst of anger that wasn't far underneath, "but I wear a label no more. You know, I haven't needed a gun since I took it off. I killed a rattlesnake with the ax, chased off a couple of coyotes with a shout, and sent that frenzied mass of buzzards away from that injured calf the other day with a few well placed rocks. Doesn't that make me more like a smart rancher and not a gunman?"

"A man could do right well as both," Slim said, turning his head to look Jess in the eye. "I've always thought that you've done just fine."

"Maybe." It was a short response, but in that one word Slim thought that he'd heard a glimmer of hope.

"A man shows more of who he is on the inside, than what he wears or doesn't wear on his hip."

"You must be getting older," Jess said, a smile actually tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Got any gray hairs poking around at your temples? You're sounding like a wizened old man."

"Thanks," Slim raised both eyebrows, "I guess."

"I know what you're saying, Slim," Jess stared out at the lake as he spoke, "but there's so much more to it than that. You've seen my gun hidden in the fireplace. It's polished, shiny and clean without a notch on it. If I woulda marked it like some of them swollen-headed gunfighters do to show their fame, it'd look pretty beat up. The thing is, Slim, I don't know how many times I've pulled a gun and fired it. Sometimes I've killed, other times…" The pause was only four seconds long, but in that short span, an agonized breath was taken, eyelids drew closed, and pain thumped in his chest that showed just as much on the outside as it was felt on the inside. "…I've only wounded. But there's a lotta men, and Mike, toting scars on their bodies or got their names chiseled on a stone that wouldn't have been if it weren't for my gun."

"There is truth to what you say, Jess," Slim replied thoughtfully, "but you're forgetting something important. Your gun has saved a lot of lives, too, including mine."

The reply took time in coming, but came out after a deep breath was taken and released. "I've fought on all sides, for many reasons, but at the end of a battle, because of me, someone still's gonna end up dead."

"A lot of men that get their names and faces printed on wanted posters deserve that fate. Evil has to be stopped," Slim saw Jess' head rise. "As long as there are good men, like you, willing to fight, it will be."

"I ain't ever been a truly good man, Slim. I might have decent morals and know what it takes to be a friend, but as long as I'm tied to a gun, and always will be no matter what for all I've done, I can't be labeled good."

"I hold a gun," Slim pulled his gun from its holster and held it in his palm before sliding it back to where it belonged, "and you've told me more than once that you consider me a good man."

"You're different, Slim," Jess said quickly, perhaps because if he hadn't responded suddenly, the silence would have allowed Slim's words to sink in. "You're a rancher whose reputation is nearly as untarnished as the shimmer on the lake here. But me, I'm like a mud puddle that gives a stain that'll never come out."

"I've heard you tell Daisy on more than one occasion that just because your shirt has a few stains, it's not reason enough to throw it out."

"I reckon you've made a point," Jess said quietly, his eyes taking on the reflection of the lake so they looked like they were swimming in moisture laden blueness. "But it ain't just words. Despite everything I know and everything I am, I still shot Mike. Even if I ever do touch a gun again, I ain't so sure I can trust my hand anymore."

"You don't have to trust your hand, Jess," Slim said softly while his hand rested gently on Jess' shoulder, "you just have to trust your heart."

Was there finally the beginning of a dawning ray of light shining not only on Jess, but coming from the inside as well? Jess looked around at the lake, the sunlight dancing on the ripples of the surface and felt nearly as refreshed as if his entire body were gliding through the water. He felt something, perhaps it was hope, or a weight starting to fall off of his back, but whatever it was, although undefined, started to shift everything into a brighter direction. Jess looked at Slim, words so close to his tongue that he could taste their renewal. But whatever was blooming inside of him was about to hang suspended in the air.

"Slim! Jess! Help! Slim!" Mike's shouts were in the same staccato form as before when their living nightmare began, but this time, as they slapped the air one right after the other from the direction of the ranch house, the final plea was more of a shriek and then there was a scream. From Daisy.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Slim was on his feet running for his mount before Jess was able to do the same. With wet feet, the socks didn't want to glide freely on, so after struggling for too many seconds with one, Jess left the other on the grass. He shoved his boots on with force, running before either one was fully into place, but the stamping of his feet onto the ground put them snuggly in position before his backside found the saddle. He turned his horse toward the house, noticing that Slim was already out of sight, but kept to the exact trail that his partner had taken.

He hadn't made it to the top of the rise when a gunshot exploded, but Jess didn't stop at the loud report, instead, urged his horse faster. The gunfire, coming from too close to the house was repeated once and a brief second later a horse declared its fear from the noise with a shrill cry from its mouth. Jess knew without seeing that it was Slim's horse that had reacted, a few moments later, he would discover why.

Slim lay on his back in the middle of the road, only a few feet from the Sherman Stage Stop sign, blood seeping from a lengthy cut on his forehead over his eye. Jess dismounted in an instant, checking for his partner's breathing before his foot even hit the dirt. Onto one knee, Jess raised Slim's head slightly from the ground, bringing a moan to emit from a slightly open mouth that declared that Slim wasn't fully unconscious, but far enough into darkness that he wasn't aware of Jess' presence. It was only a graze, but deep enough that if Daisy had her hands on him instead of his, she'd be preparing to stitch it closed.

The thought of Daisy brought Jess' head to whip toward the house. No one was in sight, and everything was more eerily quiet than a foggy autumn night. As if the past two weeks hadn't even existed, Jess' hand dropped to the side of his body, reaching for a gun that wasn't there, and then that same hand clenched into a fist. He looked back down at Slim, and easing his partner's head back onto the ground, Jess' eyes found the gun that was still loosely held in Slim's hand. Jess slowly reached for the weapon, expecting to feel some form of spark or pang of guilt for what he was about to do, but nothing seared into his hand when it clasped around the handle of the gun.

The gun solidly in his palm, Jess stood and began to walk the remaining distance to the house. He had been adamant about not wearing a gun again, and in a way, he wasn't as the belt was still gone, but with another look behind him at Slim's bleeding wound, the reason it was in his hand was loud and clear. Someone had just gone too far.

Jess searched with his eyes, listened with his ears, but there wasn't a sound to alert him. The corral, yard, and surrounding area all remained empty, and Jess wondered if the gunman had fled. Heading for the front porch, Jess paused, as the pricks of guilt returned to his flesh as the gun was pointed forward and finger was placed on the trigger. As if he were seeing the bullet slam into Mike's chest once more, Jess slid the gun inside of his beltline, unable to enter, lest the aim be at the boy once more. No sooner than his fingers released the handle, he wished he'd never let it go.

A man dressed in black, his red handkerchief like a stain of blood around his neck, stepped from the front door of the house and stopped after he took the first step off of the porch. Even though it had been over ten years, Jess recognized him instantly. This was not the man that had been rumored to arrive, Lance Dillman, but a gunfighter even more sinister than he. His choice of attire was set as a match to his name, but those that had been unfortunate enough to know him personally, often stated that the color more suited the shade of his heart.

"Beau Black." Jess said the name coldly, steeling his eyes to glisten with frost as well. He'd known more of him than actually truly knowing him, but they'd shared professions, and an argument a time or two, but neither man had faced each other with perfected stances, until now.

"At your service," Black replied with the tip of his hat. Since he had dropped the man he presumed to be Sherman, who was likely his biggest threat as he was riding in while wielding a weapon, Black had holstered his gun before he had stepped out of the door. That decision was regretted when he first laid eyes on Harper. He had a gun.

"I'm surprised that you ain't six feet under in some desolate Texas graveyard."

"Ain't been no one able to put me in one," Black replied with a lopsided grin.

"Yet."

"You always spoke to the point," Black lost his smile and narrowed his eyes, "didn't you Harper?"

"No sense in bush beating. So here's another. Where's the woman and the boy?" Jess asked, eyes darting back and forth from window to window trying to catch a glimpse of either one inside.

"They're all right," Black sneered, which made his entire being appear even viler than a few moments before, "aside from a slap I had to give to the old lady."

"You're gonna regret that," Jess said, his fingers feeling that old familiar tingling sensation that coursed from his hand when he was ready for a draw, "and what you did to Slim."

"I was told you'd put away your gun for good," Black carefully eyed the gun at Jess' beltline and the steady hand at his side.

"It mighta stayed that way if you'd kept this between you and me," Jess' voice took on its familiar gravelly tone, with an extra timbre of faithfulness for his family backing his words, "but you made a mistake, a bad mistake."

He was here because he'd secretly always feared Jess Harper, but without a gun, Harper was nothing. With a gun, Black was pitted against one of the fastest draws that ever walked the west. Texas was born to many a gunslinger, but only the greatest stayed alive. One had just lost his life back in Laramie, and another was supposed to fall here and now by his hand, but since Harper now had a gun in his possession, Black knew it could be he that took a bullet instead. Hatred, and he had plenty, wouldn't waver, and now he had to take its stand.

"I can still accomplish what I came for," Black said coolly and both men knew the direction that had just been taken, a gun draw.

"Step away from the house," Jess commanded.

"Why?" Black challenged, hoping to swing more momentum in his direction. "Are you afraid you'll shoot the boy again? Yep, I know about that. So I'm gonna have to say, no. No, Harper, I'm staying right here."

Wasn't it the barn door he was now seeing, instead of the door to the house behind Black? Wasn't there a face peering through that door, one that was about to be stricken with pain? Wasn't the air ready to be pierced with Daisy's scream? Wasn't his finger about to pull a trigger to a bullet on a collision course with the wrong path? No. That was behind him. If Jess focused on that grievous day now, he was certain to fail again. He knew that, just as he knew the actual scene that was in front of him as it had been viewed many times before, only with different men in front of him. Or when it was a boy.

"_You don't have to trust your hand, Jess,"_ Slim's words nudged their way into his head with a soft whisper, pushing away the doubts, _"you just have to trust your heart."_

"All right," Jess gave a slight nod, "have it your way. Wherever it is that you stand will be the place that you fall."

Two men staring each other down could easily miss something stirring around them, this time was no different. With a shake of his head, Slim awoke and rose to his feet, his eyes absorbing the scene close to the house a moment later. Jess stood solidly in place directly in front of a black clad man, the man that he'd seen a moment before he'd taken a close call with a bullet to his head. He felt slightly dizzied, but it wasn't affecting his vision enough to notice that there was still no gun on Jess' hip. Slim reached for a gun that wasn't at his side and then darted his eyes back to Jess. Did he have it, or was it dropped in the brush when he fell, or had the gunman flung it into the next county before Jess had arrived? Not knowing the answer, but needing to be armed, Slim crawled through the back end of the corral and through the rear entryway to the barn, where he quickly grabbed Jess' holster from its hook, the gun that his partner usually held was soon fitted in his hand.

"You sure you can best me?" Black said, just as the barn door creaked open. Both men heard it, and as Black was the only one in the position to see Sherman emerge, he quickly sucked in the air. Now he was facing two. If Harper was going to go down, he had to go down now.

"In my sleep," Jess' comment hit Black squarely in the face, and a pair of icy blue eyes saw fear suddenly clutch his opponent. "You wanna sing me to sleep to find out?"

"I'll put you in a permanent sleep with this," Black's words were barely finished when his hand flinched.

Jess responded and had the gun in his hand, cocked and aimed, but it was never fired. He'd beat the draw fast enough that the other gun barely broke free from leather. Jess held the gun on Black as he heard footsteps come up behind him, knowing without looking that it was Slim's feet that he heard. He glanced to his left when Slim came up beside him, not missing his own personal gun readied and aimed in his partner's hand.

"You're finished, here, Black," Jess said, trying to not let the grin spread too widely on his mouth, but found that it was difficult to do so.

"I thought I was facing no gun," Black growled out his words, "but now I'm staring at two."

"Make that three," Mort stepped around the side of the house, gun in hand and ready to use it if necessary. The sheriff had been approaching the ranch house, and seeing Slim crawling to the back of the barn he immediately suspected trouble. When he'd tied his horse a short distance away and walked slowly to the house, Mort had heard all that he'd needed to hear to know that the man he'd killed in Laramie wasn't Jess' only threat. "Better drop that iron, Mister. You wouldn't get along very well with three bullet holes in you."

"I reckon by now you're wishing you'd stayed in Texas," Jess said when Black's gun hit the dirt.

"There's always the chance we'll meet again, Harper," Black scowled, the frown growing worse when Mort pulled out his handcuffs.

"Not as long as you're behind bars," Mort slapped the cuffs on Black and pulled him away from the house. "Do you need me to fetch the doctor, Slim?"

"Nah," Slim wiped the remnants of blood on his forehead with his hand. "I'll be fine."

"Are Daisy and Mike all right?" Mort asked, giving an extra glaring gaze at the gunman beside him in case either of his friends answered with an unpleasant reply.

"We're fine, Sheriff," Daisy called from the kitchen door, where she and Mike had just crept through. The bruise was evident on her cheek and she couldn't help but touch it when she saw the man who'd struck her safely secured in Mort's grasp. "No real harm done."

"You do that?" Mort motioned with his head toward Daisy's direction, barely receiving a look of shame from Black. "Then you're going to keep a cell bunk warm for a long time. Let's go, you've done this family enough harm."

"Thanks Mort," Slim said as Mort starting leading his prisoner away. "Wait, Mort. What was it that brought you out here in the first place?"

"Oh," Mort shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to reveal just yet that Black hadn't been the only one coming after Jess that day. "That can keep. I'll talk to you about it later."

"Jess!" Mike ran the short distance between them and leapt into Jess' arms. "He said he was gonna kill you!"

"Well, he didn't get to, Tiger," Jess said, hugging Mike gently as to not squeeze his wound. "Everything's gonna be all right now."

"Is it?" Mike asked, looking from Jess to Slim to Daisy and then back to Jess again. His question was not about the gunman that Mort was hauling to Laramie's jail, and somehow, everyone there knew exactly what he meant.

Jess set Mike back down on the ground and taking the gun out of his beltline, he held it out away from his body. It didn't feel like something poisonous anymore. Had the time span between now and when he'd last fired a gun changed that touch, or was it something far deeper? Jess had barely begun to scratch the surface of his emotions while talking to Slim alongside the lake and although Slim's encouraging words were proving themselves to be true, Jess knew that his guilt couldn't be washed away with a few well worded sentences. Maybe it never could be cleaned. Wasn't it the gun that tarnished him? The answer wasn't yet clear enough to see, although it was standing right beside him.

"Slim," Jess held the gun in front of Slim, "I believe this is yours."

"And I've got something that belongs to you," Slim held the gun in front of Jess. "That is, if you want it back."

"I dunno," Jess stared at his gun in Slim's hands. "Even though I was ready to take a stand against Black, I didn't really need it, what with you and Mort backing me up and all. Besides, I was always faster than him, even when I wasn't at my best. I didn't need to shoot him, just scare him."

Slim dropped his eyes to the ground, the swells of discouragement rising high in his chest all over again and Daisy's moist eyes showed a similar feeling. Had all of this really been for nothing? Jess took up a gun when faced with an enemy, only to reject it once more? They knew that life could carry on if Jess never wore a gun again, although it would be altered than what they'd known for several years. But inside of each heart, from the men, to the woman and even the boy, knew that what made Jess Harper the loving, yet fiery character that he was, came from every detail on his inside and outside, including a gun at the hip.

"Jess," Mike's voice interrupted every thought as he tugged on Jess' arm, "would a knife do as much damage as a bullet?"

"Could do worse, Mike," Jess asked, placing his hand on Mike's back, "why?"

"'Cause that outlaw that grabbed me that day said he was gonna use a knife on me if I gave him any trouble. And I bit him. Hard."

Suddenly Jess saw a different part of that day clearly in his mind. The man holding Mike was raising a knife, the glint of the sun on the blade flashing again in his sight. "I shot the knife out of his hand."

"And you saved my life!" Mike nearly shouted, the grin on his face showing his jubilee even more than his exclamation.

"You did, Jess," Slim, nodded, the smile of hope beginning to grow on his face once more, "because of the skill of your gun, because of the need to protect Mike, and because of love."

"I reckon I know what to do, now," Jess said as both Slim and Daisy held their breaths.

Jess reached out with both hands and took the gun belt from Slim. Sliding it around his hips, he buckled it into place and then slowly slid the gun out of the holster. Jess gripped the weapon gently in his hands, feeling its every part as if familiarizing it with himself all over again. Once satisfied that the touch was the way that it should feel, he dropped it back in the holster, the weight of the gun back on his hip was like a warm embrace. It didn't feel wrong, it felt strangely right, like it was where it always belonged.

"You reckon I can still be both?" Jess looked at Slim, referring to their remarks along the lake about how a man could do well as a rancher and a gunman.

"You never stopped, Pard," Slim said, giving Jess a friendly slap on the arm. "Who you are will stay living inside of you forever."


End file.
